


Something Stupid

by BMCNicholasCage



Category: Clone High
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:33:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27499474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BMCNicholasCage/pseuds/BMCNicholasCage
Summary: Vincent despised JFK, down to the bone. He swore that he would stab him within the next week if murder weren't illegal.However, all of that changed when they had a project together. JFK subverted his expectations quickly, and they became friends. As expected, they started to hang out after school and every other weekend, smoking raisins or whatnot. And this weekend wasn't an exception.Now they sat in his room. High as a kite. And Vincent fucks up.
Relationships: JFK/Vincent Van Gogh (Clone High)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 87





	1. Prologue: All Jocks Are Pigs

**Author's Note:**

> To be honest, I don't like how this turned out :')  
> I was supposed to post this after the hashtag ban on insta was over but it's not going away anytime soon so
> 
> t a k e

His friendship with JFK was entirely unexpected for Vincent, accustomed to the half-assed “heys” in classes or the stupid jokes he would overhear in passing. He would roll his eyes and go to his locker, grimacing as he heard the obnoxious laughter of the jock. And god, his red polo looked so stupid on him, along with his towering pompadour and creased shit colored loafers. His accent made him want to cut off his other ear.

It was clear Vincent despised him, down to the bone. He swore that if JFK were a puddle and he stood in it, the water would barely touch his heel from how shallow he was.  However, all of that changed during finals, where Vincent was forcibly assigned to JFK for an egregious science project. It was worth 35% of their grade and was due the following December. 

“I know he will fucking flake on me,” he complained to any friend who would listen. “God, I’d rather just fail for the semester than spend one more minute of my time with that dumbass.” JFK quickly subverted his expectations, however. He was oddly enthusiastic about working with Vincent and gave his all into the project, which completely floored him. 

An unlikely friendship started to form, and soon they became close friends, hanging out with each other on weekends and after school. And that weekend, JFK invited Vincent to his house with the exciting premise of smoking raisins in his room. He accepted, which led to where they are now.

In JFK’s room.

Lounging on beanbags.

High as fuck.


	2. Something Stupid

_I know I stand in line_ _  
__Until you think you have the time_ _  
__To spend an evening with me_

The moonlight trickled into JFK’s bedroom through his window, the comforting yellow casting upon him. Plumes of smoke escaped his mouth and into the light, forming into something he would mistake for Vincent’s Starry Night. 

“Hey, Gogh,” JFK called out, sinking into the beanbag he was currently sitting on. “The, uh, smoke kinda looks like your painting. Start Night, was it?” Vincent looked at him, exasperated, as he inhaled the blunt in his hands. 

“It’s Starry Night, dumbass,” he replied, snorting when JFK yelled out an offended, “hey!” 

“It’s, er uh, not my fault for not knowing,” he argued. “It’s pretty close to Da Vinky’s shit.” He took another hit of the raisins, closing his eyes as he heard Vincent’s annoyed groan. His mind felt like a cotton field. 

“What did I even expect from you?” Vincent exhaled once again, adding to the concoction of raisin clouds that floated above JFK’s room. He watched as they formed into swirls, curling into each other before disappearing into the yellow moonshine. Surprisingly, he was right; it did look like the clouds in Starry Night. And it was eerily identical. 

“John?” Vincent asked, poking the presumably passed out jock on the shoulder. He stirred before reluctantly opening his eyes, murmuring a quick “mmm?” as he turned towards Vincent. 

“Can we turn on the light? I can’t see shit.” JFK shook his head as he closed his eyes once more, putting an arm over his head and hiding his grin as Vincent grumbled. God, if he had a nickel for every time Vincent wanted to kill him…

“Damn, can’t have shit in Detroit,” he muttered, throwing himself back onto the beanbag JFK was sitting on. He was small enough to fit comfortably next to him, their hips barely touching and enough room for the holy spirit to squeeze between them. JFK couldn’t help but chuckle, discarding his finished blunt onto the floor beside him. Vincent rested his head onto JFK’s arm, who paid no mind to it since he’s done it countless times before. 

It’s not gay if they have socks on. That was JFK’s philosophy when it came to his friends. And luckily for JFK, both of them have socks on, Vincent’s with Bob Ross’s face plastered onto them and JFK’s plain white ones with just two black stripes on the rim.    
  


“Hey,” Vincent said quietly, breaking the previous silence. “Why did you even become friends with me? You could’ve just dropped me after the science project.” JFK shrugged.

“Cuz I, er uh, want to,” he answered, now looking at Vincent. His expression implied that he was unsatisfied, his usual melancholic blue eyes now cold as the arctic, and his eyebrows furrowed together. 

_ I can see it in your eyes _

_ You still despise the same old lines _

_ You heard the night before _

To be fair, they were high as fuck. 

“Is that... it?” His gravelly voice faltered as his eyes flickered away from JFK’s gaze. 

“Yeah,” he lied, clutching his stomach with clammy hands as butterflies started to form. He felt the beanbag shift, Vincent’s head no longer resting on his arm. He nearly pouted like a toddler, wanting to pull back Vincent and wrap his arms around him, kiss the top of his forehead, and whisper something cheesy in his ear. Something that would make Vincent melt into a puddle of goo into his arms. Something that made his relationship with Cleo look like a kindergarten fling. 

“ Your answer is always the same, isn’t it, John?” he sighed, his back now turned towards the jock. Vincent reached for another blunt, fumbling with the lighter and struggling to turn it on. JFK simply watched, unsure if he should help or not. 

“Well, uh, what do you want to hear?” JFK questioned, head now resting on his arm. Vincent paused, thumb freezing on the trigger as his shoulders tensed up. 

“You wouldn’t like my answer,” he mumbled before continuing to struggle with the lighter, whispering a “fucking finally” once it produced a flame. He lit the blunt and placed it in his mouth, holding it between his forefinger and middle. His shoulders finally relaxed as he inhaled the raisins. 

_ I practice everyday _

_ To find some clever lines to say _

_ To make the meaning come true _

“You, er, don’t know that for sure.” He coughed as Vincent blew smoke into his face with a smirk before turning his back once again. He then swatted at the cloud, reaching over Vincent to take the box of raisins he had bought. 

“Unlike you, Kennedy, I don’t have literal peas for brains. I know you’d run away to Joan, screaming, if you knew my answer,” he retorted, examining his nails JFK attempted to paint. It was already chipping, which added some trademarked Kennedy charm to it. 

“I, er uh, don’t like your tone, short stack,” JFK grumbled, his usually upbeat voice now brought down to a husky whisper. It nearly threw off Vincent, but he kept his composure. 

“Does anyone, though?” he riposted, passing the lighter to JFK. He reluctantly took it and lighted the blunt sitting between his lips. More clouds of smoke started to fill the air, adding to the thick blanket of raisin haze. 

“Now I’m, uh, wondering why I didn’t drop you after the science project,” JFK joked, now facing Vincent. “You’re always so, er uh, mean.” He chuckled in response, now turning towards JFK as well, gazes meeting momentarily. Vincent swore he felt his stomach flip. 

“Only for you, John. Only for you.” They quietly smoked after his retort, unconsciously inching closer every few minutes or so until their shoulders touched, along with the tips of their fingers. He felt like he was on cloud nine. 

Their hands clasped the other, JFK’s calloused and sport damaged hands overtaking Vincent’s smaller ones. His thumb started to caress the top of Vincent’s wrapped hand, delicately stroking the tightened bandages. He shivered under his touch, now finally resting his head on JFK’s chest, inhaling the expensive cologne that he always smelled of. 

_The time is right, your perfume fills my head_ _  
__The stars get red_ _  
__And oh, the night’s so blue_

Hints of vanilla filled his brain with more cotton. He looked up at JFK with curious eyes, watching as his chocolate brown eyes glistened in the moonlight. 

“Your eyes,” Vincent hesitated, confused at his newfound confidence. “They look like pools of honey.” His voice trailed off in a lilt as he carefully observed JFK’s expression, expecting to see a face of disgust. Instead, his cheeks blew up into a shade of red, and his eyes widened to those of saucers. 

“No one has ever...said that to me,” JFK stammered, scratching his cheek. “And...er, I expected you to bully me instead. Like “your, er uh, eyes are as brown as my shit” type thing?” He struggled to internalize the compliment, being used to being called “sexy” or “hot” and whatnot. 

Not something that made his stomach do childish somersaults or his heart to beat out of his chest. 

“Honestly, same. But I bullied you enough for tonight,” Vincent chuckled, continuing to smoke his raisins. 

“...Ah,” was all that JFK could say, thumb still stroking the top of Vincent’s hand. “Well, er, I like your eyes, too. They’re like the, uh, ocean.” 

“...Deadass?” Vincent whispered, a glint of excitement sparkling in said eyes. JFK giggled softly, nodding as Vincent began to blush. 

“No one said that to me either,” he confessed, now looking outside the window and into the stars that speckled the night sky. “Although, I’m surprised that no one told you that before. Especially since you’ve had so many girlfriends.” 

“I-” JFK stuttered, his voice now faltering. “They- They, er, didn’t care about me. Not in that way.” His nails dug into his arm as tears started pooling at the rims of his eyes, hoping that Vincent would continue staring out the window. God, when was the last time he cried? 

It has to be those fucking raisins. What else could it be? 

“John?” Vincent questioned, turning his head when he heard a sniffle. “Why are you…” Tears dripped down JFK’s cheeks as he stared wide-eyed, mortified once Vincent looked at him. He expected Vincent to snicker, slapping his shoulder and yelling at him for being a supposed “pussy.”  _ No one _ was supposed to see him like this. He was just...a dumb jock. That’s all he amounted to, and he preferred that perception of him. 

Vincent reached out for him, and he flinched, shaking as tears continued to pour. He shrunk back and attempted to cover his face.    
  


“John, I’m sorry,” he said softly, grasping the other’s hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. “I shouldn’t have said that.” 

“It’s not, uh, a big deal,” JFK insisted, aggressively wiping his tears until his eyes felt raw. “You, er, shouldn’t care. No one has, anyway.” 

_  
__And then you go and spoil it all_

“Then let me be the first,” he demanded, hardening his gaze. JFK shakily sighed, discarding his second blunt, squinting as he attempted to prevent more tears from falling. 

His efforts were futile, however. 

“Why? Why, uh, the fuck do you care so much?” His voice rose in volume as more tears began rolling down his cheeks. “I’m just a stupid jock. Peas for brains. As you put it?” 

“Because-”

_ By saying something stupid  _

_ Like…  _

“I love you!” Vincent yelled, cupping the other’s face as if it were the world. “John, I’m so fucking sorry. I say dumb shit all the time that I don’t mean at all. You’re not a dumbass. I just- I just forget that others have emotions too.” JFK stared, flabbergasted, holding his breath as he toiled with Vincent’s words. He felt like his heart was falling apart and rejoining from how hard it was beating and, holy shit, he was going to vomit everywhere if he didn’t say something soon.

“John-” He was interrupted with a tender embrace, JFK trembling like a puppy left out in the rain as he kissed Vincent’s temple. 

“I-” he hesitated, biting his lip as he tried to find the words. This was stupidly foreign to him. 

“I love you too, Vinnie,” he murmured meekly, pressing his lips against Vincent’s unexposed ear. 

“Y- you do?” Vincent sputtered, hands lingering on JFK’s chest as they pulled away. JFK nodded, smiling, as the tears seemed to stop. His tear-stained cheeks were flushed with a muted red.    
  


“Is that, uh, the answer you wanted?” he inquired, holding Vincent’s chin up and forcing the redhead to look up at him. “Because I’m not running away to Joan, screaming.” He rolled his eyes, grinning as JFK let out a small laugh. 

“Yeah. It is.” Their faces started to gravitate towards each other, lips trembling as they were mere inches away from each other. 

“Is this okay?” 

“Yeah.” They kissed desperately, hands grasping whatever they could, and Vincent’s legs wrapping around JFK’s waist. They fell back onto the beanbag, JFK hovering over Vincent as they continued to kiss, a few “I love you”s whispered in-between every breath. 

“John-” Vincent gasped, pulling away to breathe. His head was spinning. 

“Was that, uh, your first kiss?” Vincent nodded, which made JFK goofily grin like a child. He rolled his eyes once again. 

“Don’t pride yourself, stinky man,” he giggled, now cuddling with said “stinky man.” JFK kissed the top of his head, wrapping his arms around Vincent’s smaller body. 

“If I’m, er uh, stinky, then you shouldn’t cuddle with me,” he said with a smile, laughing as Vincent swatted at him. 

“I don’t mind.” They then both dozed off, JFK’s clock illuminating a red “1:48 AM” into the dark room. 

_ I love you _


End file.
